


It starts and ends with you

by dirtyprettythings



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, Love, M/M, poem, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 08:55:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8095900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyprettythings/pseuds/dirtyprettythings
Summary: i. He knew he loved the boy. Every time Steve looked at him, his knowing smirk, confident stride and wicked eyes, he knew it as sure as the blood was pounding in his ears. The cold nights wrapped around each other for warmth, the strong presence standing next to him when Steve got himself into trouble. He was the constant, the only thing Steve was sure of in the world. Their own world, inside a muted bubble, filled with strong coffee and crackling fire while he drew the other’s face in endless loops, never getting tired of making excuses. Of watching, studying, drinking in the lines of his best friend, the one who took him to double dates with women that didn’t really see him. The one who came home smelling of beer and fading perfume, tobacco in his breath and lipstick on his neck. He loved the young man who curled around him, night after night, and Steve feared his heart would shatter.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mostly_empty_space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mostly_empty_space/gifts).



> Title was stolen from Suede.

i. He knew he loved the boy. Every time Steve looked at him, his knowing smirk, confident stride and wicked eyes, he knew it as sure as the blood was pounding in his ears. The cold nights wrapped around each other for warmth, the strong presence standing next to him when Steve got himself into trouble. He was the constant, the only thing Steve was sure of in the world. Their own world, inside a muted bubble, filled with strong coffee and crackling fire while he drew the other’s face in endless loops, never getting tired of making excuses. Of watching, studying, drinking in the lines of his best friend, the one who took him to double dates with women that didn’t really see him. The one who came home smelling of beer and fading perfume, tobacco in his breath and lipstick on his neck. He loved the young man who curled around him, night after night, and Steve feared his heart would shatter.

ii. Always two steps behind, always trying catch up, he followed Bucky to war. He followed the path with a new face, a strange body and words on stage that made him cringe. He followed him, fighting men, walking through exploding landscapes and bullet storms, - piling bodies, anyone who stood between them. Until he got Bucky back. The ever constant, feeling of home by his side, the only one who could hurt Steve. The only one with the power, the only one Steve would follow to hell. There’s no harsher season than winter, soldiers fading under its savage gaze, the grasp too strong and cold. Steve can’t melt the ice, can’t tear down the mountains, he can’t make himself want to live anymore.  
He has seen angels fall from dizzying heights. He doesn’t realise he’s one of them.

iii. There is no life without him. New faces, a new decade, a new world. It only makes him miss the one he lost more. There’s nowhere to look, nowhere to run, the old streets hidden behind painful memories and dreams slipping through his fingers. Steve lives with a ghost. He feels like a hollow replica, a fake wearing the uniform. The one who walks, fights and acts like a hero. Someone who has nothing to lose. He feels reckless. He wants to toe the line, stand on the edge. His life is all he has to give. Or to lose. He can’t see the difference. Until he meets his ghost. The one who punches hard, tears down kevlar, skin and walls, the one who without mercy demolishes the life Steve never wanted. Winter is unstoppable, a cloud of fury and smoke, sparks of metal and treacherous shadows. Death threats sealed with kisses. Punches that feel like a lover’s touch, a feathery flow with the power of a sledgehammer. Steve doesn’t want to stop him. He wants to lay down his shield and let winter bury him. Bury him or wipe the memories away.

iv. Steve knows he loves the man. The man with grey sad eyes and careful smiles, tight jaw and carefully unclenched fists. The man who he catches looking, the one who turns his head away every time Steve looks. The man’s memories are painted over with red and pain, metal and dust, archived into layers of secrets and closed doors. Steve lays down all his defences, the man hides knives everywhere. The man watches Seinfeld reruns, eats buckets of popcorn and wears Steve’s soft pyjama pants while they dance around each other. He wants to grab and shake, punch and soothe. Steve wants to hide him. He wants to jump from the ledge, hovering on the edge of his nerves, tell anyone who’ll listen - he loves this man. He wants the man to know this. And he waits - the man so close tipping over the edge himself. The view is different while they’re both looking for a reason to jump.

v. He knows kissing Bucky is impossible, though a minute/decades ago he had been capable of anything. He’s never been this scared, who knew the icon of freedom was afraid to touch? Bucky looks at him now, with sureness in his grey eyes, with loyalty and adoration, with hope and fear. Bucky’s the one, always the brave one, who entwines their fingers together and leans closer. The shortest distance sometimes expands to cover the universe, the impossible turning out to be inevitable. Bucky kisses him with soft lips, sliding hands and quiet moans that make Steve’s body warm again. Kisses that make his fingers tremble, heart beat faster than the sound of bullets ever did, make his body wanting and alive. Bucky melts him, chases the winter away with hungry lips, sure hands and love Steve knows is his to keep.


End file.
